Kitty, or Beaux Idéal
by Eh Bien
Summary: Elizabeth Bennett once said, "Where Lydia goes, Kitty will follow." In fact, Kitty is a born follower. What happens to Kitty once Lydia's influence is removed from her life? The story begins a few months after Jane and Elizabeth are married. (Note: I write very slowly. Additional chapters will be a long time coming. Thanks for your patience.)
1. The Bennetts at Home

The parlourmaid placed a tray containing the morning post on the breakfast table in front of Mrs Bennett, then quickly dropped a curtsey and withdrew before the barrage of pointless questions could begin. Like all good servants, she had learned to adapt quickly to the little peculiarities of her employers, sometimes for their greater comfort and sometimes, as now, for her own.

Mrs Bennet passed along the letters addressed to her husband, retaining one directed to herself. "A letter for me? Who is it from?" The maid walked more quickly, pretending to be out of earshot. "What a pretty letter, too! Look at this paper, Mr. Bennett, and the bright blue ink. I think the bright blue is rather stylish, although some consider it vulgar. The hand is rather like our Lydia's, but with more flourishes and little ornaments than Lydia was inclined to use. It must be from someone else; tho' I suppose Lydia might have altered her manner of writing."

"Your painful suspense could be easily brought to an end, Mrs. Bennet," her husband responded, attempting to read his own morning correspondence.

She looked at him in puzzlement for a moment before taking his meaning and breaking the seal. A moment later she exclaimed, "Oh, it _is_ from Lydia!" She perused the letter a moment. "My dear girl writes that she is well, only rather bored at the moment, as there are no more dances to attend for some time to come."

On announcing that her letter came from her youngest daughter, Mrs. Bennet immediately had the full attention of her second youngest. Kitty turned eagerly toward her mother for news of her newly married youngest sister.

Mary, however, exhibited no such interest. "There is no reason to be bored for a lack of balls and parties," was her opinion. "Lydia is bored because she never developed any other interests. She should make a list of good books to read over the coming months."

Kitty ignored these outrageous remarks with her usual tact. "Are they getting on well with the other officers?" she asked her mother.

Mrs. Bennet continued to scan the bright blue lines. "Yes, she says they are all great friends, although there was some quarrel recently between Wickham and another officer, over some trifle to do with money. No doubt it was over a wager; these soldiers take their card games so seriously."

Mister Bennet sighed, but added nothing to the observation.

"She asks after you, Kitty," Mrs. Bennet went on. "She wonders if you might like to pay a visit in the near future, and see their home in the North."

Mister Bennet looked up at this. "My dear Mrs. Bennet, you know that is out of the question."

His wife seemed ready to dispute this, but chose to defer the argument to a better time. "She also asks after Jane and Lizzy, and is thinking of visiting Pemberley when they have the time."

Mister Bennet cleared his throat quietly, looking up momentarily from his own letters. "I hope they at least ask Lizzy or Jane to accept a visit, rather than simply arriving."

"Oh, I'm sure," Mrs. Bennet answered vaguely, her attention back on her letter.

Kitty, however, had not yet abandoned the question of visiting her younger sister. "Papa, why could I not visit Lydia?"

Mister Bennet braced himself. Since Lydia's elopement, he had tried to adopt a firmer, more admonitory approach to Kitty, hoping to provide some guidance and offset Lydia's influence before it was too late; but it did not come naturally to him. He was accustomed to letting his wife have her way with the girls, and only the shock of seeing the effects of his negligence was enough to force him to risk conflict. "Because she is a bad influence on you."

"Oh, Mister Bennet!" his wife exclaimed. "How can you say so? Wasn't Lydia the first to be married?"

"Precisely my point." Mister Bennet waited until the maid had finished placing the milk pitcher on the table and withdrawn from the room. "Would you have Kitty follow the same path to matrimony her younger sister has done?"

"What can it matter, so long as it did end in matrimony?" Mrs. Bennet replied. Her husband merely sighed and returned to his own letters.

The matter did not rest there. Mrs. Bennet continued to press the question. "You have barely let Kitty walk to town since our Lydia was married. Kitty is a young lady of an age to be out in society. How can you expect her to find a husband if she is never allowed to meet any young gentlemen?"

"Other young ladies find husbands, my dear, without having to travel to Manchester to find them." Mr. Bennet kept his eyes on his correspondence as he spoke. "Our two eldest daughters, for example, located perfectly adequate husbands within walking distance of home."

"Oh, but Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley coming into the area at the same time was a rare stroke of luck! We cannot count on more young single gentlemen turning up in the neighbourhood." Mrs. Bennet bit her lip, sighing deeply.

"If only they knew what an abundance of silly girls they'd have at their disposal," Mr. Bennet said, folding up his letter, "they would certainly be arriving in droves. They should have to hire a charabanc for the purpose." He failed to notice his daughter Mary's slightly reproachful look.

"Mister Bennet! You are so unkind to your own flesh and blood! Our girls are certainly not silly! And besides," she added, with more accuracy, "there is no longer such an abundance of them, now that three of the five are married and gone away."

"True enough."

"And we cannot expect, either, that another regiment will be stationed in Meryton at any time soon."

"God forbid," her husband murmured.

"So there will be no officers."

Kitty sighed. "They were lovely in their red coats, and some of them so gallant!"

"And yet," Mr. Bennet added, "they have all gone off without leaving behind so much as an insincere promise. Surely, Mrs. Bennet, we can look for more fervour in any prospective husbands of our remaining daughters!"

His wife knew better than to pursue this. "What if they were to spend more time with dear Jane? And with Lizzy? It would introduce them to Mr. Bingley's friends, and Mr. Darcy's; and even you, Mr. Bennet, cannot object to their visiting their own sisters."

Since Lydia's elopement, Mr. Bennet was not sanguine about sending Kitty off anywhere, even to stay with Lizzy. "Well, we shall see about that," he said evasively.

After breakfast, Mary began practicing on the pianoforte, but Kitty induced her to leave her music behind at mid morning and walk to Meryton. There was no real purpose to the outing beyond buying a pair of bootlaces, but Kitty found regular trips to town held her boredom in check. "It's so dull at home since Lizzy moved away," she sighed.

Mary overlooked this slight to the company of Kitty's remaining family, including herself. "You might find it less dull if you did more reading," she suggested. "I find it makes the time pass more than most occupations. Or you could take up music."

"I'm too old to start learning to play now," Kitty objected, "and I do read, when it's raining out or there's nothing else to do."

This cavalier dismissal of the value of literature was also overlooked. Mary no longer expected to have much influence over her younger sister. "At least the warm weather will allow for longer walks." The spring rains had stopped, and dry, sunny days were becoming more common.

"Yes," Kitty sighed, as one who welcomes what small consolations are available to her.

"I could teach you music, if you like."

"Oh, Mary! I'm too old to start learning to play!" Kitty said irritably.

Mary made one further attempt. "Perhaps you could take up your needlework again. You seemed to enjoy it at one time."

"Jane used to help me," Kitty recalled. "She showed me how to hem and embroider pocket handkerchiefs." She sighed again at the loss of her two elder sisters.

"I'm sure you could get on very well without her by now."

"Perhaps. I wonder how Lydia is getting on in the north. I wish I could go to visit her, but Papa will not even consider it."

"Very right, too," Mary could not help but say. "Kitty, I think you do not realize how serious a matter Lydia's elopement was. If it had not been for Mr. Darcy's help..."

"Mary, I have had enough of that from Jane and Lizzy. I think they are just jealous because Lydia was first to marry."

Mary gave no answer to this, taking silent comfort in the knowledge of her own superior understanding of Lydia's peril, and the moral lessons to be drawn from it. She had pondered these at great length, and shared her insights with her family when she could.

The afternoon post brought further news from distant family members. "Here is a letter to both of us, from Lizzy," Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. Her husband paused on his way to his library. "She writes that she has just come from a visit with Charlotte to see the new baby."

"And is she well?" Mr. Bennett asked.

"It's a he," his wife corrected. "Charlotte had a little boy, don't you remember?" She sighed heavily. "An heir to Longbourne." The idea that the Lucases had managed to, in her mind, all but steal the legacy from its rightful owners still rankled somewhat.

"No, I meant Lizzy."

"Oh! Yes, she says she is very well, and Mr. Darcy is also in good health. And...well, you may read it for yourself."

Her husband accepted the letter and read it through. "Well, well. I am pleased to see that Mr Collins remains as foolish as ever. One worries that marriage may take the edge off such a man, but no, he is steadfast."

"Are Mr. and Mrs. Collins well?" Mary asked, disapproving of her father's criticism but not wishing to say so openly.

"Extremely well, and are enjoying an expansion of their dwelling at Lady Catherine's behest. In fact, I am given the impression she arranged the construction without informing the residents until two days before the workmen arrived, leaving Charlotte and her month old child to hide from the dust in a back bedroom." He chuckled, delighted as always by his daughter's lively descriptions of human folly and ill manners.  
>"But all is now completed, and very much to Lady Catherine's satisfaction, I gather. Lizzy writes, '<em>Mr. Collins is abjectly grateful, and has often expressed regret that his first born was not a girl, so that he could name her for his esteemed patroness<em>.' Hm. I am a little surprised he let the child's sex be a barrier to such an act of devotion."

No one laughed at his comments, and he sighed a little for the absence of his second eldest daughter, the only one who truly appreciated his sense of humour.

His wife took the letter back. "She says we will be hearing from dear Jane soon, about their moving back from town. I suppose Jane will stay in the country until after her confinement. Grandchildren, Mr. Bennet! Is it not exciting?"

"Immensely so, my dear. But you hardly look old enough to be a grandmother. It will be a constant source of confusion as the child grows up." His combination of gallantry and sarcasm left his wife uncertain, as usual, how to take this remark, and he retreated to his library.

Conversation at dinner was dominated by Mrs. Bennet, who had local gossip to share. Kitty once again tried to bring up the idea of visiting Lydia, and was a little startled when her father refused her request not merely firmly, but with some sharpness. Mary attempted to talk about a book she had recently read, one which offered moral guidance to the general reader, but was met with indifference. Mr. Bennet amused himself with witty remarks about his wife's comments. Each party equally felt himself to be the only one providing interesting dinner table talk, and the others to be conversational dead weight, as was usual for the four remaining Bennets.

The next day brought the expected letter from Jane, indicating that they were returning to Netherfield and would probably stay there for many months, very likely through the winter. Their marriage and wedding trip accomplished, the couple had been prompt in taking the next step of producing the promise of an heir, and nothing remained but to settle back in the country to await its arrival.

"When will they arrive?" Kitty asked, excited by the prospect of something new in the neighbourhood.

Mrs. Bennet read further. "On Monday, Jane says. The servants are coming ahead to prepare the house this week. Oh, I do look forward to seeing dear Jane again! And dear Mr. Bingley, too!"

"And you and the girls will have one more family to visit," Mr. Bennett pointed out. "That will lighten the burden for the other households." His wife paid him no mind as she studied the letter.

The next day, after breakfast, Kitty proposed a walk to Netherfield. "They haven't arrived yet, child!" her mother told her.

"But the servants must be getting the house ready. I just want to see how they're getting on. Mary, you'll walk with me, won't you?"

"I was planning to read more of Travels in Chaldea this morning." At Kitty's impatient sigh, Mary said, "Very well. I'll put my reading off until later. Long walks are said to be beneficial." She followed Kitty to the door, pulling on her bonnet. "I believe we all have an obligation to maintain our health as best we can, and walking..." Kitty heard no more as she hurried out the front door, Mary behind her.

It was a fine June morning, and the road to Netherfield very dry. "Do you think they'll give a ball while they're here?" Kitty asked Mary as they walked.

"I have no idea."

"Perhaps Jane would agree, if I asked her."

"Jane will have a great deal to do as it is," Mary reminded her. "She expects a child in the autumn."

"But the child won't be in the way until then." She giggled. "Do you suppose Jane will be growing quite large by now?"

Mary coughed uncomfortably. "I suppose we will notice a difference."

"It must be very strange," Kitty mused, "having a baby inside you like that." Mary glanced around the deserted road to ensure there were no listeners. "And then getting the child born..."

"It is all part of God's plan," Mary said uncertainly. Marital concerns often made her uneasy.

"I hope Jane will be all right."

They fell silent. It was easy for even the flightiest sister to love Jane, and they shared a moment of genuine concern for her.

The rear of Netherfield Hall came into sight. "It does look grand!" Kitty exclaimed. "I believe those are new curtains in the breakfast room window!"

They stood a while at the edge of the property, watching the small amount of activity that was visible: a stable-boy hauling a cartload of straw and a maid beating a rug in the kitchen garden.

"I wonder if I shall ever marry," Kitty said, as if to herself.

"Why would you not, if you wish to?" Mary asked. "You are perfectly presentable, and good tempered." She stopped, having run dry of plausible compliments, and not greatly inclined to contrive new ones.

"Jane met Mr. Bingley here at Netherfield," Kitty said wistfully, "and Lizzy met Mr. Darcy through him. But now they are both taken."

"There are many more gentlemen in the neighbourhood."

"None of them ever seem to like me very well. They always liked Lydia better." She sighed.

"Lydia," Mary pointed out, "isn't here any more."


	2. The Bingleys at Home

With the prospect of her eldest sister returning soon to the neighbourhood, Kitty gave up, for the moment, the idea of visiting Lydia or leaving town for any other form of amusement. She filled her time with long walks, a new novel, and occasionally visiting the few young people living nearby. She even took up Mary's suggestion and brought out her needlework basket again, taking up her most recent bit of work where she had left off. She had done little sewing when Lydia had been at home, as Lydia found it as a dull occupation fit only for maiden aunts. Without the risk of her youngest sister's mockery, Kitty was able to take pleasure in one of her very few accomplishments.

The new Mr and Mrs Bingley finally arrived at Netherfield, and came to pay their respects to the Bennetts with courteous promptness. Mrs Bennet was in ecstasies. "Jane, my dear girl! How well you look! That bonnet suits you _very_ well. And Mr Bingley, it is so good to see you again!" She kissed them both, and Mr Bennet clasped hands with his son in law cordially enough. They all took seats in the drawing room, where Mrs Bennet took the largest share of the talk upon herself, commenting on Jane's happy condition and growing size in a manner so indiscreet, her husband finally took pity on the newly married couple and turned the conversation to other matters.

"I see you are making some improvements to Netherfield Hall," he remarked to Mr Bingley.

"Yes!" Mr. Bingley replied, glad of a chance to talk of something new. "Just a few small changes that seemed called for. And we have had the chimneys swept before moving back."

"Very practical."

"We never reside anywhere but Longbourne," Mrs Bennet said, a little peevishly, "so we must have them swept while we are living here."

"A trial, Mrs Bennet, which you have always borne with saintlike patience," her husband replied.

"I said we should take a place in London at such times, but Mr Bennet dislikes London," she confided to Mr Bingley. "I hope you and Jane have enjoyed _your_ stay in the city, along with your other travels."

"It was very pleasant, Mamma," Jane said.

"Did you go to the theatre?" Kitty asked her.

Jane smiled. "Yes, several times. And we saw a great deal of our aunt and uncle. They send their love, and say they will certainly see you before Christmas. And I met some of Mr Bingley's family that were not at the wedding. They were all very kind to me."

"Well, that is good to hear," her mother replied. "One never knows how new in-laws are going to take things. I had some very uncomfortable moments with Mr Bennet's family when we were first married. But we almost never saw those people, so it hardly mattered."

"We saw Lizzy and Mr Darcy when they were in town," Jane went on, "and we spent a little time together. Lizzy has been lately to visit Charlotte, and told me the good news."

"Good news?" Mrs Bennet repeated blankly.

"Charlotte has had her child; a boy," Jane explained.

"Oh! Of course she has. Well, yes, that is very good news. And high time! They have been married a good long while! Mr. Collins must be so pleased."

"No doubt," Mr. Bingley agreed.

"And you must be pleased as well!" Mrs. Bennet said, turning to her son in law. "I hope you are making provisions for a nursery at Netherfield?"

"Most certainly!" Mr. Bingley said affably. "Everything is being made ready, and Darcy's housekeeper has recommended an excellent nurse who will be in need of a post soon, so nothing remains but for our new resident to make his arrival."

"Yes, that is very considerate of you. Oh, this is such an exciting time in a woman's life! I remember so well, my dear, when Mr Bennet and I were expecting _your_ arrival, and now, here you are...oh, I hope all will go well for you, my dear!" She paused and took out her handkerchief as her eyes filled with sentimental tears.

Jane, touched by this uncharacteristic burst of motherly concern, pressed her mother's hand.

"You will have to have your gowns let out still more," Mrs. Bennet sniffled, nodding toward Jane's midsection, "or else have new ones made, and then taken in once you are back to your usual size."

"Yes, Mamma."

Mary, eager to participate, said, "Canon Sutcliffe writes that impending motherhood should inspire a woman to be continually grateful to her Maker for blessing her with a fruitful marriage. He has composed a volume of inspirational writings. Perhaps you would like to borrow the book?"

"Thank you, Mary," Jane said, smiling at her sister.

"Jane feels proper gratitude without any outside encouragement, I think," Mr. Bennet remarked.

Jane took his hand as well, moved by this unusual surfeit of parental affection, and the visit continued pleasantly for all.

"You must all come to dinner," Mr. Bingley said as they took their leave. "What about tomorrow?" He missed the furtive glance of his wife, who was aware that the house would still be in disarray for some days. Jane's mind, following its natural bent, immediately turned away from this inconvenience and toward her own good fortune at having a husband who was so affable toward his wife's relations.

"That is so very good of you," Mrs Bennet said, with the exaggerated formality she often found necessary at such times. "It so happens that we have no dinner engagement tomorrow."

"Excellent. Then we shall see you all tomorrow." He offered his arm to Jane and led her to their carriage, where she waved to her family from the window, smiling, as they drove away.

Spending time with the amiable Mr Bingley and with Jane, whose kindness soothed every temperament, put the Bennets in a better mood; and the prospect of a visit to Netherfield after so long an absence cheered them still more. They were quite patient with one another the rest of the evening.

"Jane is growing quite stout now!" Kitty observed to Mary as they made their way to bed that night.

"That is only natural," Mary replied.

"Oh, of course. But it was surprising to see her this way." She frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder if it is uncomfortable."

"Perhaps," Mary said vaguely. "Mamma has said that it was a trying time."

Kitty made no answer. Her mother's complaints shed no light, having so little connection with the actual difficulty of her trial. She bid Mary good-night and carried her candle to the little room she had once shared with Lydia, feeling its emptiness more than usual.

The family arrived at Netherfield promptly. Kitty had taken particular pains with her appearance. She felt just a little odd about visiting her sister, now that Jane was a married woman, in charge of her own rather splendid household. Kitty had spent a little time with Lydia after her wedding to Mr Wickham, when they had stopped at Longbourne, but Lydia had seemed as she always had: carefree and jolly, in spite of her newly married status. Jane, however, seemed different. She was still the same Jane, but she seemed older now, calmer and, although more cheerful than ever, more serious as well. Kitty pondered this as she examined the ribbons of her gown, hoping the colours were in keeping with London fashion. She envied Jane her time in the city. Having only been there twice, and not for some years, she had an exalted image of London as a kind of fairyland, an image which Lydia's accounts only set more firmly in her mind.

"Jane, dear, how well your new house looks!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, rushing past Jane and her husband in her eagerness to view the drawing room.

"I'm afraid it is very much as it was," Mr. Bingley said, smiling. "Except for the firescreens. Mrs Bingley found those in London, and had them sent on."

"It seems so strange to hear her called Mrs Bingley!" Kitty exclaimed.

Mr Bingley laughed. "I hope you can become accustomed to it, as I have every hope she will keep the name for life!"

"Oh! Of course!" Kitty said, shy once again, and moved away to examine one of the screens.

"You and Miss Mary must have missed your sister," Mr Bingley went on. "But now she is within easy reach, and you may see each other as much as you wish."

"We have never been deprived of Jane's company for so long," Mr Bennet replied. "Her absence has the most shocking effect on all our temperaments. If you had stayed away another month, I'm afraid we may have come to blows."

Mr Bingley merely laughed at this, choosing to take it as one of his father in law's rather dark jests.

"Jane, I brought the book I spoke of," Mary said, handing over a thin clothbound volume. "The Reverend Sutcliffe's tracts. He is rather sentimental, but I have heard that many find his writings very edifying."

"Thank you, Mary." Jane received the book with a smile. "I shall keep it in the little sitting room, to read in the evenings."

The conversation moved on to the subject of London, to Kitty's great satisfaction.

"Our uncle's business is doing so very well this past year," Jane observed. "They are quite well off."

"Aunt and Uncle Gardiner have always been careful and thrifty," Mary commented. "No doubt that has contributed to their prosperity."

"Did they go with you to the theatre?" Kitty asked, trying to turn the conversation in a more interesting direction. She had been so seldom to the theatre, that it held for her the same fairy-tale fascination as London itself.

"Yes, they went with us once, and had us to dinner as well."

"What plays did you see?"

"We saw _Richard III_ with Aunt and Uncle, and we went with Mr Bingley's sister and cousins to _She Stoops to Conquer_."

This did not capture Kitty's fancy, and she allowed the discussion to wander. Dinner was announced, and they were served what Mrs Bennett pronounced a very elegant meal. Mr Bingley's good cheer and Jane's tact led the conversation in the most agreeable directions, and Mrs Bennett abandoned her rhapsodies over the dinnerware, and Mr Bennett his amused silence, to join in. Everyone remained in a good humour for card games and conversation afterward, and the Bennetts returned home still in a pleasant frame of mind.

In the weeks that followed, little changed in the Bennets' daily routine, apart from visits to Netherfield being added to their regular outings. Kitty found herself a little less at loose ends with visits to see Jane added to her outings, but she still felt restless. Reading never seemed to occupy her long enough, and walks seemed insipid with Mary for company rather than her lively youngest sister. She walked into Meryton several times a week, on days when she did not visit Jane or her aunt and uncle. She continued to occupy the evenings with her needlework, but her knowledge of its lack of practical use dulled her interest.

Another letter from Lydia to Mrs Bennett arrived a few weeks later, causing something of a stir. Among her usual grievances of too few balls, her inability to return to London again for a long time to come, and her husband's frequent absence from the home for dinner, she complained of strange symptoms of some unknown illness. She wrote that her stomach was unsettled often, especially early in the morning, and that she experienced odd sensations of giddiness and occasional aches and pains. She was sure that a visit to London, or to the seaside, would put her right immediately, but Wickham claimed his duties did not allow for an absence at this time.

Mrs Bennet, able to put two and two together when the subject was a familiar one, immediately wrote to her daughter Lizzy, revealing her suspicions and asking her to look into the matter, not entirely sure herself why she had asked Lizzy to intervene rather than write to Lydia directly, but feeling it to be somehow advisable. Three days later, a letter arrived from Pemberley. Mrs Bennet set her breakfast aside and broke the seal eagerly.

_Dear Mama,  
><em>_I have written to Lydia, and arranged for a doctor to see her. Mr Wickham has never engaged a physician, for either himself or Lydia, and was reluctant to allow this, but I urged him of its necessity. Dr Riggs confirmed that your suspicions were correct, and indeed that she has likely been in such a condition for some time without realizing it..._

"There, Mr Bennet I knew it must be true!"

"What must, my dear?" her husband asked from behind his newspaper.

"We are expecting yet another grandchild! Our dear Lydia is in the motherly way. Is this not exciting?" Mary and Kitty looked up in surprise at this.

"Indeed it is," he said mildly. "I only hope Mr Wickham is equal to the challenge of fatherhood." He flushed slightly as his own inadequacies as a parent passed through his mind.

She read on. "Lizzy says Lydia is in good health, but a little uncomfortable. Yes, I recall very well. It was an unpleasant time, on all five occasions. Well, I must write and congratulate her!" Mrs. Bennet quickly finished her breakfast and hurried to her writing desk to express her joy and offer her advice to her youngest daughter.

"Lydia to have a child!" Kitty mused, half to Mary, half to herself. "It is so hard to picture her a mother!"

"She is very young," Mary agreed.

"Yes." Kitty tried to imagine Lydia with sons and daughters, and failed. Lydia did not fit into any scene of such pronounced domesticity. Neither, to her mind, did Wickham. She could only see them as a gallant, red-coated suitor and a laughing girl with not a care in the world.

Lydia wrote to her mother the following week. _"Lord, what a trial it is, to be sick so often! My particular friend Becky Talbot, another of the officers' wives, reminds me I shall soon have to let my gowns out, or to have new ones made, for none of them will fit me. It will be disagreeable to be so misshapen! Dear Wickham is of no help, for he seems not to like to talk of it at all, but I am sure he will be very pleased when he sees the little baby. I shall hope to have a son for his sake, altho I should vastly prefer a little girl, for she would be such fun to dress..."_ Such was the extent of her maternal concerns. She went on to describe Mrs Talbot's new gown and the amusing things she had said at their last meeting, and remembered to enquire before concluding after the health of all the family.

The family's spirits were brightened the following day, when they all received invitations to a ball given by Sir William Lucas and Lady Lucas, jointly in honour of their daughter Maria's birthday and the birth of their first grandchild.

The prospect of a ball required a visit to Lucas Lodge to consult with Maria as to proper dress, and two visits to Jane for the same purpose. "I don't suppose I shall do a great deal of dancing," Jane said, laughing, "but a ball is always pleasant. I will at least have a chance to talk with friends I see but seldom."

"Old friendships must be nurtured," Mary remarked, quoting from recent reading, "for they sustain us in adversity and gladden us in happy times."

"That reminds me, Mary," Jane said, rising and retrieving a small book from a corner table, "I want to return your book, with thanks. You were right, it is very inspirational. I found myself all but weeping at some of the more moving passages. The reverend gentleman writes very well, and with a great deal of heart." She handed the volume to her sister.

"I am glad you found it helpful," Mary said, a little taken aback at having any book she recommended so well received.

"This Mr Sutcliffe must be a remarkable man. Is he retired from orders, I wonder?"

"No, I think not. In fact, I asked our own canon about his situation. He is quite a young man, who has only recently taken up a living at a parish in Derbyshire. It is not far from Pemberley; perhaps Elizabeth has met him."


	3. The Ball at Lucas Lodge

The ball at Lucas Lodge was smaller than the one held the previous year at Netherfield, due only to the smaller dimensions of Sir William's residence and not to any preference on his side. It was, however, notable in its grandeur, the large reception room being decorated for the occasion to the point where the eye could not move anywhere without falling on yet another bit of ornamentation. Only the floor itself remained clear, as a concession to the guests' convenience while dancing.

Sir William and Lady Lucas stood near the door to receive guests as they arrived, and were effusive as usual in their praise of the Bennet ladies' appearance. Sir William shook Mr Bennet's hand warmly.

"It is not often we see _you_ at these assemblies, sir!" he said cheerfully.

"No, indeed," Mr Bennet agreed, "but my wife's and daughters' anticipation of your ball had reached such a fever pitch, I found myself swept along in the tide of excitement."

Sir William laughed pleasantly, quite happy to accept a satirical half-compliment if a more sincere one were not provided. In truth, Mr Bennet had resolved to accompany his family to social gatherings, despite his lack of interest, until such time as his daughters were either married or past the age where concern was necessary. As much as he made a joke of zealously guarding his two unmarried daughters, he had learned to take his responsibilities to heart. He moved immediately toward the refreshment table to fortify himself for an evening of paternal guardianship.

Mrs Bennet, as usual, joined her sister Mrs Phillips and other matrons from the neighbourhood, leaving her daughters to make their way as best they could. Mary studied the crowd solemnly, while Kitty looked around for acquaintances. She felt awkward, even in the familiar and unintimidating environment of Sir William's reception room. At previous balls, Lydia had been present, and had taken charge, greeting friends, making jokes, and joining freely in any merriment to be had, while Kitty had followed along in her wake. Now there was no one to follow.

Even the preparations for the ball had not been as festive as in earlier times. There was no Jane or Lizzy to borrow finery from, and no Lydia to stir up excitement about which young men would ask her to dance and what they would think of her dress. Even in an activity as simple as anticipating a ball, Kitty found herself at something of a loss without Lydia's leadership.

She felt a hand on her arm, and turned to find Maria Lucas smiling at her. "Kitty! Mary! I'm so glad you're here! There are so few young people!"

Kitty looked around the room. "Oh! We will hardly be able to form a set!" This was not really true, but there were, indeed, far fewer people under thirty than over, in keeping with the average age of the neighbourhood.

"People in their thirties or even forties are well able to dance," Mary pointed out.

"Oh, but who wants to dance with a lot of old people?" Kitty retorted. "Remember when the militia was stationed at Meryton?" she asked Maria with a sigh. This, at least, was a topic whose appeal never faded.

"Yes! All those fine young men in dashing red coats, and always plenty of partners! I never sat out a single dance where the officers were present."

Mary, who had sat out a good many, even in the presence of officers, suggested she go and play the pianoforte until the dancing began, and set off to the far corner of the room where the instrument was placed. Maria led Kitty to the adjoining room. "We have had to put the refreshments here in the dining room, to leave the floor open in the larger room. Come and have a glass of something."

Kitty followed willingly enough, and took a cup of punch, while Maria pointed out the one or two new people present. A short distance away, she could hear her mother talking with her friends. "My Lizzie does very well, thank you for inquiring. She is kept very busy, for Pemberley is a great estate, you know, and yet she writes to her father and me _very_ often, and long letters, too."

"She was great friends with Sir William's daughter, was she not?" one lady asked. "Has she been to visit Charlotte since her happy event?" There was some uneasy stirring from the other ladies, for Mrs. Bennet sometimes chose to resent any mention of the Collinses and their unjust claim on Longbourne, although at other times it seemed to slip her mind.

"Oh! Yes, she stayed there for several days, and wrote to tell us about it. Charlotte was well, she said, and the new baby too - but Mr Collins was in some distress, because his neighbour Lady Catherine would not visit the new baby while LIzzie was staying there, and Lizzie would not leave Charlotte until she was well past her confinement. She is angry with Lizzie, because I think she had some idea of Mr Darcy marrying someone else, or so I seem to remember it..."

Kitty half attended to Maria's chatter and half to her mother's, all the while looking about the rooms. There were a few young single men in evidence, but they were all known to her from the neighbourhood or from Meryton. Familiarity had decreased their attractiveness, as had the memory of how easily and successfully Lydia had once flirted with each of them. Kitty felt a little at a loss, even so far as replying to a young man should he ask her to dance. Previous balls and assemblies had always followed the same pattern: Lydia would approach young men boldly, sometimes introducing herself, chatting easily and making them laugh, while Kitty stood at her side, enjoying the encounter without really taking part in it except to laugh at Lydia's jokes. One of the men would eventually ask Lydia to dance, and one of his companions would follow up by asking Kitty. In this manner, Kitty enjoyed a fair amount of masculine attention and socializing without ever learning to entertain or engage in conversation in her own right. Without Lydia, she felt like a cipher.

"...and Jane, of course, is very well settled at Netherfield. We are so looking forward to the new addition to their family, and Jane has set up a very pretty nursery. Oh, and between ourselves, we have just had news that my youngest daughter, Lydia, expects a child as well, although probably not until the new year."

Mary had completed her performance of melodies very unsuitable to the atmosphere of a ballroom, and as the musicians had begun to set themselves up in the opposite corner, she stood, accepted the polite patter of applause, and seated herself in a chair near the doorway. The best part of the evening was over for her.

"...now, our Lizzie has yet to provide us with news of that kind, although it has been some time since their wedding, but I do not blame Mr Darcy. He is a very able-looking man, and I'm sure Lizzie does her duty by him as best she can. Sometimes it takes a little longer. I recall when Mr. Bennett and I were hoping for a son..."

"I'm sure they will be blessed in time," Mrs Phillips put in hastily.

Couples were gathering to form the first set. Maria was engaged for the dance by a thin, red-haired boy of fifteen, the son of a clergyman from Meryton. Kitty stood holding her punch cup and watched the couples move down the set.

"...ten thousand a year..."

A woman she knew slightly, the wife of Sir William's physician, stopped to talk with Kitty, evidently out of pity for her lack of companions. As she departed to speak with other friends, Kitty went to the refreshment table, hoping to busy herself with food and thus look less abandoned. Once again she regretted Lydia's absence. Balls had been so effortless in the past, and such fun. Without her youngest sister, Kitty hardly knew whom to admire and whom to privately laugh at.

"... even though they were married at almost the same time as Jane, he and Lizzie took a _very_ short wedding trip, little more than a week, because Mr Darcy said he could not be long away from Pemberley at that time, but Jane and Mr Bingley travelled together for several months before returning, and I always say that a long honeymoon is sure to..."

The delicacies provided by the Lucases were highly elegant, by Sir William's design, and inexpensive by his wife's, two elements which combined to make a very light repast. Kitty had sampled everything there was to be had within a few minutes, and found herself wandering the room alone once again. She considered rejoining Mary, but hesitated to place herself where prospective dance partners would be unlikely to notice her.

She was approached at that moment by just such a person, and found herself enduring the embarrassment of being invited to dance out of pity for her unpartnered state, by the physician whose wife had spoken to her earlier. She accepted without much enthusiasm, but found the doctor, although a man well into his thirties and not particularly handsome, to be both a good dancer and an amiable companion. She found herself smiling at his comments as they moved down the dance together. Her attitude became a little more optimistic.

Mr Bingley danced with Mary, then invited Kitty to dance a reel with him. Her spirits rose still more as her brother-in-law threw himself into the dance with great zest, laughing when he made a mistake or gallantly apologizing when she did, and thanking Kitty warmly as the dance ended. As the musicians struck up the music for a more sedate dance, he offered Jane his arm.

"...but I see Jane dancing now, and she does very well for being so heavy..." Kitty heard her mother from the sitting room, where she had sat down to cards with her sister and two other ladies.

Kitty found herself grouped with Maria and several other young people, the men talking of shooting and horses, and critiquing the party at which they were guests. As couples assembled for a new dance, the group paired off, one of the young men inviting Kitty, but only as if she were the girl closest to hand, not as if she were his particular choice. She began to realize how many compliments and how much flirting had come her way as the crumbs that fell from Lydia's more abundant table.

To her astonishment, Kitty saw her father approach the dance floor with Mrs. Bennet on his arm and take his place at the bottom of the set. She let her attention roam between her partner, who attempted to make pleasantries as they danced, and her father and mother, who were moving through the dance without much of the sprightliness of the younger guests, but quite correctly.

For the following dance, Mr Bennett chose Mary as his partner, and for the next, Kitty. This was an entirely new experience, and Kitty did not attempt to hide her surprise.

"Are you so amazed, my dear, at seeing your elderly father attempt to dance?" Mr Bennet asked her. "I am only trying to do my duty by my daughters, and keep them on display as continuously as possible." Kitty smiled faintly at this, but also glanced around quickly to see whether she was, in fact, observed by any promising young men. It appeared she was not. "It is certainly an easier job now," her father went on, "than when there were five young ladies to keep constantly in the public eye. In fact, I admit I found the job beyond me, and left them all to fend for themselves for many years, as you know. But with only two of you left on my hands, I can manage the job adequately. Well, here we go," he concluded, taking her hand as their turn came to move down the dance.

This dance ended, Kitty followed a group of young people to where the refreshments were laid out, and took another cup of punch and a morsel more to eat. She wandered slowly through the room, passing three young men who were arguing about horses and who ignored her completely; the doctor she had danced with, who was engaged in a serious discussion with an elderly man about some change in the law; and one or two young ladies who were talking, with oddly solemn expressions, about a wedding they had both recently attended.

As couples took their places for the last dance of the evening, young men quickly obtained partners. The red-headed clergyman's son hurriedly asked Kitty for the dance, and they joined the set just as the music began. "Oh, we've only just made it in time!" he observed. Kitty nodded, watching the first couples begin the dance. "I always like to be at the bottom of the set," he confided, "so I can watch someone else go first."

"Yes, so do I," Kitty agreed, although she would not have made such an admission to any gentleman older and more handsome than this boy.

"I enjoy seeing others make mistakes, but hate being the one to do it myself. That hardly seems charitable, does it? We all have to take our turns being fools, or we have no right to laugh at any other's folly. That's what one of my teachers says, when someone makes a mistake in the classroom."

Kitty nodded, and tried to join in the conversation. She had to think a moment before recalling the boy's name: Andrew. "Where do you go to school?"

He named a school near Hastings. "I'm just come home for the summer."

They joined in their part of the dance, which the boy did skilfully enough, then Kitty said, "I shouldn't like to go away to school, I think."

"I didn't like leaving home, at first," Andrew replied, "but I made so many friends, and it's fun being with a lot of jolly boys, rather than always with Father and Mother and my sisters." There was a pause while they joined in a circle manoeuver and returned to place. "Besides, I couldn't go on to study law or theology, or make anything of myself, if I didn't go to a good school. But it _is_ nice to be home for now."

Kitty found herself at a loss, having little in her life to compare with these experiences. "I suppose I would be a dunce, if I were sent to school. I was never able to read good books, or study anything for long, or...or anything of that kind. I don't even play the pianoforte." At this point, Lydia would usually have made some joke, poking fun at scholarly pursuits and making everyone laugh.

"Well, I'm sure you're clever at some things," young Andrew said kindly. "Or you will be in time. You're an awfully good dancer!"

Kitty was saved the trouble of answering by being called on to move down the dance at that point. She studied her partner furtively. He looked very much the schoolboy, with untidy hair and ill-fitting clothes. In comparison to her sisters' husbands, or to the well-remembered company of officers, he seemed callow and artless, yet he was not much younger than herself.


	4. Letters

The day following the ball was filled with the usual discussion of the ball itself, critique of the clothing of the other women there, of the dancing skills of the men, of the decorations and the food, and in Mrs Bennet's case of the news she had acquired from the other guests. Mr Bennet himself received some teasing praise for his gallantry and his lightness of foot, and Jane for her fortitude in dancing while enduring such an obvious burden.

"I wonder if Lydia is still attending balls," Kitty pondered aloud at the dinner table. "She said she was horrid uncomfortable."

"I doubt there is much that would keep Lydia from a ball," Mr Bennet answered drily. "The onset of motherhood itself would probably cause her only to miss a dance or two." Mary looked shocked, and Lydia found the imagery too disturbing to laugh at, but Mrs Bennet chuckled pleasantly and agreed.

The rest of the week followed its usual pattern. Lydia tried to follow Mary's advice and take up her sewing again, and it did, in fact, keep her occupied during dull hours. She joined Mary on regular long walks and began taking a quiet enjoyment in the warm weather and the scenery; Lydia had never had much patience for scenery, or for country walks unless they led somewhere particular. She finished her novel, and out of boredom took up the book Jane had returned to Mary, the "inspirational" book by the Reverend Mr Sutcliffe.

She began by idly turning the pages, half reading and half daydreaming, but at one point something she read struck her, and she went back to re-read the chapter. It was not written at all like other religious tracts she had encountered, which were dull and predictable, and seemed to have no bearing on her life. The author wrote passionately, in a way Kitty vaguely felt Lydia would have mocked, and yet his passion was attractive. His writing was also different in that it wrote about temptations and moral dilemmas which ordinary people might actually encounter in their daily lives. He did not write of imaginary or long past moral struggles - "all olden times and Roman and Greek" as Lydia had once described it - but of things that Kitty herself recognized. Rev Sutcliffe's remarks on the relationship of sons and daughters to their parents struck a particular chord, and showed failings not only in her mother and father, where she expected to find them, but almost against her will, in herself and her relations to them. It was a little shocking to hear a man of the cloth speak, in such elevated yet easily understood language, about her daily domestic irritations and conflicts as though they mattered, and mattered at a high spiritual level.

Kitty read on, fascinated but a little disturbed by what she read, dulling the effect of the words a little by allowing herself to enjoy the poetic language of the tract. When she reached the chapter Mary had mentioned, relating to motherhood, she closed the book.

More than a week after the Lucas ball, a letter arrived at breakfast, addressed to Mrs Bennet. "It's my sister Gardiner's hand," she observed, studying it intently but leaving the seal unbroken, "but she seems to have addressed it in a great hurry! Perhaps she wrote urgently. I hope it is not bad news." Mr Bennet sighed, forbearing to mention, this time, that answers to her conjectures lay close at hand.

Mrs Bennet broke the seal at last, opened the letter and studied it. "Oh!" she exclaimed, putting down her mug and bending over the paper.

"What is it, Mama?" Mary asked.

"It's Lydia! She's unwell, my sister says."

"She was unwell before; she told us so herself."

"No, no, this is more serious. She is very ill indeed!"

Mr Bennet finally looked up from his own letters with a frown. "So ill that she cannot write herself?"

"Yes, it seems so. Oh, my poor girl!" She read further.

"But what is wrong with her?" Kitty asked.

"My poor Lydia! Oh, see for yourself," she said irritably, tossing the letter to Kitty, who scanned it quickly, Mary reading over her shoulder.

"Lydia has miscarried," Mary told her father.

He sat back in his chair, shocked.

"She is ill and taken to her bed," Mrs Bennet went on tearfully, "and her aunt has gone to nurse her, and asks if I would be willing to do the same, for she must get back to her family. Oh yes, Mr Bennet! You objected to our going north to see Lydia, but really you must allow it now!"

This request resulted in some confusing and ambiguous argument from her husband, who met his wife's pleas not so much with refusal as with evasion, and finally in his insistence on putting the matter off while he gave it more thought. The firm decision to keep Lydia's influence away from his unmarried daughters was at odds with Lydia's very reasonable claim upon her family in times of illness and grief. In fact, while Mr Bennet was newly committed to providing care and guidance to his family, the role was so unfamiliar to him that the presence of a genuine dilemma left him a little bewildered.

While musing over the matter, on impulse he took up his pen and wrote a short letter to his daughter Elizabeth, asking if she had heard of Lydia's troubles and what she thought of the matter. He mentioned the request from her aunt that Lydia's mother go to her sickbed, adding no more than a request for a hasty reply, and trusting his cleverest child to understand what troubled him. He sealed the letter and left it with the post.

A response came immediately, before the family's indecision could be taken amiss, and Mr Bennet found the solace he had expected.

_My dear Papa_, Elizabeth wrote. _I have already heard the sad news from Aunt Gardiner._ After kindly commiserating with all, she continued:

_I am sure you must feel some reservations at sending the family to help, but I know also that her plight must appeal to your natural sense of duty. I am going to Lydia myself to see if I can be of any aid as she recovers. While I confess I agree with your decision to separate Mary and Kitty from Lydia's company, I feel sure that her illness and the sadness of her situation will make the visit a sober one, more likely to inspire serious than frivolous thoughts in my sisters, and therefore, should you approve, I would feel no concern about their visiting at this time._

Pleased at his daughter's quick understanding and reassuring observations, and relieved that he had thought to lay his concerns before her, Mr Bennet jotted a quick note in response, before joining his family at the dinner table and announcing his intention to arrange for travel to the north without delay.

"Oh! Mr Bennet, I am so glad! I knew you would not fail your youngest child in her time of need!"

"A mission of mercy is to our credit, I believe," Mary observed, "most particularly when it is in keeping with sisterly obligations."

"Just so, Mary," Mr Bennet said, suppressing a sarcastic reply.

Mrs Bennet scoffed at the idea of taking her daughters north by means of public conveyances, and insisted on taking the family carriage and leaving her husband to walk where he would. Mr Bennet accepted this request readily, recognizing that he would be far less inclined to leave a quiet and empty house than he might be when his family were still at home.

Mrs Bennet, who was slow and inefficient in most things, was remarkably sprightly when arranging an activity she took an interest in, and the packing and preparations for the trip north was complete within the day. Mr Bennet had considered accompanying his wife and daughters, but in the end his newborn sense of paternal responsibility failed at the prospect of time spent in the company of Lydia and her worthless husband. The fact that Lizzy would be there to act as chaperone further eased his concerns. He contented himself with sending a warm and unironic message of well-wishing to his youngest and silliest daughter, and saw his family off in their carriage just after dawn.

The trip to the north was not unmarked by conflict, and quarrels broke out both in the carriage and at the inn where they stopped for the night. Mary finally retreated from conversation by reading as they travelled, and Kitty was left to talk with her mother, who was willing to accept Kitty's discourse if no better were available.

"Do you think it is a very grand house?" Kitty asked. "And their carriage - Lydia wrote me that they had got a new one in Newcastle that was very superior to any of the other officers'." She smiled to herself. "They would look to such advantage in a barouche." She thought back to that visit, and the splendid effect created by Wickham in his red coat, helping the beaming Lydia down from their carriage, as she laughed and displayed her wedding ring in triumph.

"Oh, their home is not so grand as Longbourne, to be sure," her mother replied complacently, "but I expect they are fitted up very nicely. Lydia wrote, remember? and said the house was not so large, but had a very fine parlour." Her face became pensive. "I'm not altogether sure what an officer's income is, but," she concluded airily, "I am sure it must be ample."

Kitty nodded, trying to sort out in her mind what had been said about the Wickhams' situation before they had departed for the north. Most marriages, as far as she could recall, seemed to be preceded by some fairly serious consideration of the prospective husband's means, and some discreet discussion of the bride's dowry, but in the case of Lydia and Wickham, discussion of their material situation had been vague and scattered. But then, their wedding had been so sudden.

As they approached Newcastle, the air became cooler, the landscape rougher and hillier. The roads and public houses took on a slightly unfamiliar appearance, the accents of the inn servants changed. Kitty was diverted by these differences, enough to keep her content and her thoughts occupied during much of the final hours of their journey.

They arrived at Newcastle in the mid afternoon. They passed tidy farms, then what Mrs Bennet took to be barracks, moved gradually through neighbourhoods both fine and shabby, and finally arriving at a street filled with fairly elegant brick houses. The carriage slowed, and turned into the drive beside one of the buildings, one with a red tile roof and multiple small windows. The carriage stopped, and a servant opened the door, lowered the steps and helped the three ladies out.

"Well! It is a very pretty house, after all! Not so grand as Longbourne, just as I said, but it will do nicely. Lydia must be quite comfortable here." Mrs Bennet exclaimed, examining the front of the house with interest, and even walking around to the side to study it more carefully, before leading her daughters to the door and pulling the bell. The carriage with their luggage drove past toward the back of the house as the door opened.

They were greeted by a thin woman with greying hair and a rather rumpled dress, who accepted without comment their claim to be relations of Mrs Wickham, and led them into the front parlour. "The mistress is unwell," the woman began.

"Yes, that is exactly why were have come!" Mrs Bennet replied. "To see if we could help my poor Lydia."

"Yes, Ma'am. Mr Wickham is not at home right now..." the servant began again.

"Oh, is he not? Well, my sister, Mrs Gardiner, said she had come. No doubt she is here? And my daughter, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Ma'am, Mrs Gardiner is upstairs. I shall ask her to come down." The woman made a quick and slightly heavy-footed retreat, without inviting the visitors to be seated. Kitty looked around curiously at the parlour. It was a pleasant space which showed signs of Lydia's influence in the ornate, rather mismatched furnishings. Everything in it seemed newly bought, and there was a light film of dust on everything. A minute later Mrs Gardiner entered, taking Mrs Bennett's hand and embracing each of her nieces in turn.

"My dears! I'm so glad you've come. Lydia is still in her bed, although the doctor says she may get up at any time now."

"Oh, sister Gardiner! It is sad, very sad indeed! My poor dear Lydia!"

"But she will be in better comfort knowing you are here, I am sure."

"But where is Lizzy? She was here ahead of us, and sent us her carriage."

"Yes, Lizzy has just gone to the apothecary's. She did not trust the maid to deal with it. She should be back presently. Let me show you where you can rest a moment from your journey, then I can take you to see her." Mrs Gardiner looks slightly harried, but she spoke soothingly and did her best to make them comfortable. She managed to gain the attention of a maidservant, with some difficulty, and send the young woman to attend the new visitors.

The extra bedroom they were led to offered few comforts beyond a bed, a chamber pot behind a folding screen, a washstand, a small mirror, and one chair. The women removed their bonnets, tidied their hair, and soon left the room with Mrs Gardiner. They were led down a narrow hallway, where Mrs Gardiner knocked lightly and entered. "Lydia? Your mother and sisters are here, dear."

Mrs Bennet immediately rushed to her bedside. "Oh, Lydia! My poor girl!"

"Hello, Mamma." Lydia received her mother's embrace happily enough, but she seemed listless. Her face was pale, her manner wan, most unlike the vivacity Kitty remembered as Lydia's particular trait. However, she seemed well cared for. In spite of having been bedridden for days, her hair was tidy, pulled back into a neat braid. The bedroom, unlike the rest of the house, was immaculate, fresh with the fragrance of dried herbs set in jars to clear the sickroom atmosphere. The curtains were drawn back to let in the afternoon sun.

Kitty sat down on the edge of the bed. She had expected her reunion with her sister to be a merry one, in spite of the circumstances, but the change in Lydia's manner made her uneasy. "I hope you're feeling better," she offered tentatively.

"Much better than a few days ago. Lord, how unpleasant it was!" She dropped back against her pillows. "I felt so wretched, and poor Wickham had no idea what to do, and at last the man sent for the doctor, and he told me what the trouble was. I felt so glad when it was all over! Of course, my poor Wickham was sorry to lose his first child, but the doctor told him he could have many more children."

"Of course he can, my dear," Mrs Bennet assured her. "These things do happen. But where is dear Wickham now?"

"Oh, he had to look in on a friend from the militia who had some...some difficulty he needed help with, I don't know what exactly." Lydia frowned. "He ought to have been back by now."

Mrs Bennet set about giving Lydia the news from home, and from Meryton, which Lydia attended to listlessly. Presently they heard a door open and close, and a minute later Elizabeth Bennet knocked softly and entered the bedchamber. She greeted her mother and sisters warmly, and set a small bottle on the bedside table. "Lydia, I have your tonic. Do remember to take it, morning and evening, as Doctor Winslow said."

Lydia agreed absently. The visit continued, the reunion slightly subdued by the circumstances, and by Lydia's unusual dullness. Elizabeth very deftly kept the conversation going when it lagged, and presently suggested Lydia might rise from the bed and join everyone at dinner. "The doctor said you were well enough, as long as you rested often during the day; and I think it might do you good to be up and about after so long abed."

Her aunt agreed, and everyone set about fetching Lydia's dress and helping her ready herself, glad to have some useful activity. Lydia seemed to rouse a bit at the new activity, and the other ladies dressed her and arranged her hair as if preparing her for a ball. She was helped down the stairs by Lizzie, and they reached the dining room just as the maid entered and handed Lydia a note. "Oh! It is Wickham, telling me he will not be home for dinner. He is staying on to dine and discuss business with his friend Baker." She seemed displeased, and kept reading the note over and over with a frown.

"What a shame, just when you are up for the first time in days!" Mrs Gardiner commented with a sigh that seemed to express more than she said.

The meal was not well prepared, and the conversation centred largely on Lydia's health, her difficulties in getting the servants to do things properly, and the happy times she and Mr Wickham had enjoyed with the other officers and their wives before she had fallen ill. Kitty offered a description of their recent ball, and Lizzie asked after Jane.

As they sat in the parlour after dinner, drinking tea, the rattle of a carriage could be heard from outside. "Oh, Wickham is home!" Lydia exclaimed. A moment later a heavy step was heard at the front door, and some confused rattling and banging, and at last Wickham appeared in the doorway, his hair and clothing slightly disheveled. "Wickham, there you are! Look who has come!"


	5. The Wickhams at Home

"Dear ladies." Wickham acknowledged them all with a bow. "How good to see you all again." He smiled unsteadily, and slurred his words just a little.

"They have come to help look after Lydia," Mrs Gardiner said, looking Wickham over gravely.

"Most kind of you," he said, addressing Mrs Bennet. "I see the, er, patient is up and about."

"Yes, for the doctor said I might start to get out of bed." Lydia rose to take his hand and kiss him, as he had made no attempt in that direction himself.

"Yes, good." He seemed to attempt to gather his wits, straightening his collar and smiling around at the parlour filled with ladies. "I am so grateful to you all for the care you have given to Lydia during this trying time," he said, stumbling once or twice over some of the words, but still putting forth as much charm as he could muster. Mary murmured a polite reply about the demands of natural affection.

Kitty was quite surprised at the changes in Mr Wickham. Since she had last seen her youngest sister, just before the hasty wedding and departure to the north, her memory of Wickham as a new bridegroom in a dashing red coat had remained with her. Indeed, in the long absence of officers in Meryton, the image had grown in splendour in her mind. The genuine Wickham, in his ordinary, off-duty clothing and somewhat the worse for drink, was not nearly so impressive a sight. He was still charming and affable, but even his manner was a little rougher and less pleasing than her memories of it.

"I'm sure we were all happy to help Lydia," Mrs Gardiner told him, "but now that her mother is here, I really must return home to my own children. I shall leave tomorrow morning." Mr Wickham made vague expressions of regret and renewed thanks. "it was nothing all," she assured him. "I see Lydia is much improved, and I leave her in capable hands." She glanced at Mrs Bennet. "Our Lizzie has turned out to be an excellent nurse." She rose. "I should begin packing. I shall see you all in the morning, no doubt, before I leave." They bid each other good night, and Mrs Gardiner went upstairs.

Mr Wickham took Mrs Gardiner's empty chair, and employed his wit and ease of discourse to keep the conversation flowing until the ladies were ready to retire. There had been some discussion of staying at the inn, for the house had only three bedrooms, but Lydia insisted it would be jolly to have everybody there together, and Mr Wickham agreed with as much grace as he could muster. The maid was told to prepare beds for the new guests, and she grimaced and stumped off to do as she was bid.

Mrs Bennett and Lizzie accompanied Lydia back upstairs and helped her prepare for bed. Mr Wickham called out jovial good-nights to them as they climbed the stairs, followed by a barely audible sigh and the clink of a bottle as they reached the top of the staircase.

Lydia, no longer bedridden, once again dressed in the morning and came downstairs for breakfast. The doctor came by and declared her well on her way to good health, and suggested that she was fit for short walks outdoors. Her family accordingly marched her out, covered in a shawl despite the sunny weather. At Lydia's insistence Mr Wickham joined them, doing his best to entertain them all with jokes and neighbourhood gossip, which charmed Mrs Bennet and her two younger daughters, although they seemed to leave Elizabeth unmoved.

As they returned to the house, Mr Wickham bid them goodbye, saying he had to join his fellow officers for some obligatory training measures, and would see them again at dinner. The ladies set themselves up in the drawing room, where they talked and engaged in what entertainment they could find in a house with few books, no musical instruments, no sewing or handiwork to be had, and company whose conversation was somewhat limited. Lydia seemed to have lost some of her penchant for bright chatter and jokes, and beyond poking a little fun at some of her neighbours, was fairly quiet. Elizabeth did most to keep everyone occupied and provide conversation, but she seemed to grow weary after a time, and all were glad when luncheon was served and they had something to occupy their attention.

In the afternoon, two friends of Lydia's, wives of other members of the regiment, came by to ask after the invalid, and were introduced to Lydia's family. The conversation became livelier and less sober with their arrival. They laughed over the doings of mutual friends, reminisced about recent balls and card parties, and chatted eagerly about similar parties and balls yet to come. No mention was made of Lydia's condition beyond one lady's quick well-wishing as she entered; and Elizabeth expressed some surprise at learning that both ladies had children at home, for no mention was made of family either. Kitty felt that Lydia at last seemed more as Kitty remembered her: young, carefree, and full of fun, or at least enjoying the prospect of fun.

Lydia grew listless again once the visitors had left. Mr Wickham did not, as promised, return home in time for dinner, but on this occasion he did send a message explaining that he would be late and giving his compliments to all the ladies. The evening was passed in playing cards, and on Elizabeth's recommendation Lydia was put to bed fairly early. After obtaining, with some difficulty, hot water and towels from the surly housemaid, and blowing out the sole candle in the room, Kitty lay beside Mary, trying to sort out the many thoughts running through her mind, most of which she barely knew how to define.

The following days passed in much the same manner. Mr Wickham seemed to spend little time at home, and when there, was somewhat less pleasant and entertaining than he had once seemed when squiring them around Meryton or attending dances, although still well spoken and charming to all his guests. He referred often to his concern for his wife in eloquent terms, but the prettiness of his speech was not matched by any actions of his. He accepted reports of Lydia's improving health with appropriate expressions of satisfaction, but he neither sought out that information, nor sought out the doctor's care, but left that to his relations in law. Kitty, who had not given any serious thought to what Lydia's marriage would be beyond the wearing of a wedding ring and the triumphant riding off beside a handsome man in uniform, was forced to conclude that being the wife of an officer, while offering regular balls and parties to provide diversion, was not as romantic or endlessly pleasing as she had imagined to herself.

Daily walks were extended gradually, at first covering only the green walk and the common close to the Wickham house, then coming to include more of the town itself, and finally encompassing brief visits to some of Lydia's new friends and to the shops on the high street. Lydia seemed to have made friends with some of the younger officers' wives, and her visiting family were taken to various homes for afternoon tea, card games, and sessions of gossip. Lydia's high spirits and ready humour seemed welcome at these gatherings, but Kitty also noticed that some of the Newcastle ladies did not approve of Lydia's livelier jokes, and sometimes seemed to look at each other as though sharing their private joke at Lydia's expense.

The Newcastle shops were another preferred destination of Lydia's, and she took her mother and sisters around to her favourites. She seemed to be carelessly extravagant in her purchases, and Kitty found herself wondering once again what the Wickhams' income was, especially when she overheard Elizabeth cautioning Lydia against spending too freely. Lydia responded in her usual dismissive manner that she and dear Wickham had plenty of money, ever since receiving their wedding present, and Lizzie replied, "But it will not last forever, not if you spend the capital. You must work out how much you can spend without diminishing..." but Lydia broke in, declaring that Wickham kept track of all that, and that she was not about to fret herself to death over the price of ribbons.

Walks having been extended well into the town, Lydia proposed a ride in the carriage to see the countryside. Mr Wickham being at home that morning, he found himself without an excuse. The horses were ordered, and brought after a lengthy delay by an irritated looking groom, and he and the five ladies crammed themselves into the Wickham carriage, Wickham gallantly handing Mary and Mrs Bennett up into the carriage ahead of him, and thereby securing an outside seat for himself.

The carriage was a very grand enclosed landau which Lydia said had been purchased soon after her wedding, and although it was now in need of a good cleaning, it still impressed Kitty greatly. She did notice that few such carriages were seen in the area, and they were stared at somewhat as they passed through the neighbourhood. In fact, when she reflected on it, the carriage felt a little out of place with the Wickham house, which seemed a very fine home for a newly commissioned ensign, but still modest in comparison to the luxurious carriage and horses. Kitty was quickly distracted from her thoughts as Lydia began to point out features of interest.

Kitty's attention was briefly drawn by a row of men walking, it seemed, into the very side of a hill. "Oh, yes," Lydia said indifferently, "those are the coal miners starting their work."

"It is the main industry here," Mr Wickham explained, adding grandly, "their industrious efforts supplying warmth to all of England."

"Oh, of course! Newcastle coal." Elizabeth replied, looking curiously at the miners, who gave the appearance more of men walking to their own hanging than to their day's work. Kitty was struck for a moment by the grim, soot-stained men in their shabby clothing, before being distracted by another of Lydia's exclamations.

The days passed, bringing no new activities but only new arrangements of the daily routine of walking, visiting, and shopping, of greater frequency and length as Lydia's strength returned to its full capacity. Kitty found herself falling back into the familiar relationship with Lydia, one involving gossip, laughter, ridicule, and plans for future amusements, and had begun to feel quite like the old Kitty and Lydia back at Longbourne, when the visit was brought to an end. When Lydia's health had improved to the point where it was clear no further special care needed to be taken, it was Elizabeth who suggested that the family might return to their own homes and leave the Wickhams to themselves. Mrs Bennet was at first reluctant to leave, but a quiet suggestion from Elizabeth that they all break their journey at Pemberley convinced her to end her visit.

"But perhaps it would be better," Elizabeth added quietly, "if we do not mention the invitation to Lydia. I would not want her to feel left out."

Mrs Bennet wrote to her husband that his youngest daughter was fully recovered, and added that they would be stopping to visit Pemberley before returning home, for how long she could not say. Lydia seemed pensive during their final breakfast together, and by turns spoke wistfully of her life back at Longbourne, and a little boastfully of her current circle of officers and their wives. "And I am youngest of them all," she added.

"Of course," Mrs Bennet said with a smile, "for you were married at only sixteen!"

Lydia nodded absently. "Even little Anne Cavanaugh, who came to see me, is two years older than I am. It is strange, for they are so serious sometimes, I feel like quite a child!"

"They are wives, and most of them mothers," Elizabeth commented. "That does make some ladies grow more...thoughtful."

"A sober nature is seemly in a married woman," Mary offered. "And still more so in a mother."

Lydia ignored this. "Well, many of them are very jolly, all the same. And there is always someone to visit, or most days." She glanced at her husband, who sat drinking tea in silence, looking as if he suffered from a headache.

Mister Wickham revived enough to give his guests a proper farewell at the door, thanking them earnestly for coming to his wife's aid and wishing them a safe journey. Mrs Bennet gave him and Lydia a warm and jovial goodbye. Kitty thought Lydia looked just a little forlorn as they finally departed, and noticed that Lizzie held back a moment to say, with particular emphasis, "Write to me, Lydia, whenever you like," but she was not sure what to make of that.

Mrs Bennet joined Elizabeth in the charming coach from Pemberley, with a driver in disappointingly simple livery, and Kitty and Mary followed behind in their own carriage as they journeyed unfamiliar roads toward the south west, leaving Newcastle and its surrounding landscape behind. They stopped at midday and took luncheon at an inn which Elizabeth recommended, then continued along alternately good and bad roads. Mary and Kitty conversed a little when the roads were smooth, and when they were rough, watched the scenery gradually change as they moved southward.

They spent that night at a small but pleasant inn before moving on, this time exchanging companions for a change of company, Mrs Bennet, by Elizabeth's suggestion, retaining the carriage from Pemberley and sharing it with Kitty. They stopped once more for dinner, and as they set out for the last leg of their journey, the landscape could be seen to change to the rolling green hills of Derbyshire.

By late afternoon, they reached a particularly well kept stretch of road, surrounded by hayfields and pasture, and during a brief pause at the roadside to stretch their legs, Elizabeth noted that these farms were part of the Pemberley estate.

"Oh!" Mrs Bennet exclaimed. "All of this belongs to Mr Darcy?"

"Yes, although it may be more correct to say it is all under his care," Elizabeth told her. "The farmers manage their own fields, and provide for the estate as well as for themselves. Mr Darcy does what he can to ensure their well being."

Mrs Bennet gazed, unhearing, across the expanse of rich green fields. "Such a great deal of land for one family!" she mused.

They travelled for some time from the boundaries of the estate before reaching Pemberley itself. The carriages followed a long drive to the front of the house and stopped to allow the passengers to disembark. The distant sound of barking could be heard as they arrived, and a speckled pointer trotted around the side of the house and stood at a distance, regarding them solemnly. To Kitty's surprise, and with no order from Elizabeth, four men immediately appeared to take their trunks, and two more men to accompany the carriages to the stables and assist in caring for the horses.

"Do let Brinks take the carriage back to Longbourne in the morning," Elizabeth said to her mother. "Papa might need it, and you can borrow a carriage from here to take you home whenever you wish."

"Thank you, my dear! Yes, I'll send the carriage home tomorrow morning; and perhaps Brinks will bring along a letter to Mr Bennett when he goes." Elizabeth passed the message along to the groom who had arrived to take charge of the horses, and he tugged his cap and followed the carriages along the drive, disappearing behind the great house.

Kitty was pleasantly amazed at the quick and effortless movements of the servants, who appeared, silently did their work, and vanished again. It was conspicuously different from the Wickham household, in which servants had to be cajoled into doing, most grudgingly and imperfectly, their most basic duties. As the carriages moved toward the back of the house and their trunks disappeared up a flight of stairs, Elizabeth led them through the front door and into a large, sunny anteroom.

A cheerful, grey-haired woman stood at the doorway to greet them, giving Elizabeth a smile. "Good afternoon, Ma'am. Welcome home."

"Thank you, Mrs Reynolds." Elizabeth gave the older woman an affectionate smile in return. "It is very good to be back. Mama," she turned to her mother, "this is Mrs Reynolds, the housekeeper. My mother, and my sisters Mary and Catherine. They will be staying with us for a while."

Mrs Reynolds greeted them respectfully. "We're very pleased to have you here, ladies. Have you dined, Ma'am?"

Elizabeth assured her that they had dined at an inn earlier in the day. Mrs Reynolds expressed some concern that her mistress had not been properly provided for, but Elizabeth laughingly told her they had fared very well.

The housekeeper contented herself with declaring that she would at least provide "a proper tea" to make up for the deficiencies of a meal at a public house, and turned back to the Bennets. "Please, let me show you to your rooms."

As she spoke a slight sound made Kitty turn toward an inner doorway, through which came Mr Darcy. "Welcome, Mrs Bennet, ladies." he bowed to them. "I hope you had an easy journey. Please make yourselves entirely at home." His words were formal, yet not cold. Kitty noticed a difference from the first few encounters they had had, during which she had learned to regard Mr Darcy as proud and aloof. Perhaps marriage had mellowed him somewhat. She recalled that he had been surprisingly affable at his wedding.

Mr Darcy approached Elizabeth. "Welcome, my dear," he said, in a warmer tone. He kissed her briefly and decorously on the cheek, then took and kissed her hand. "It is very good to have you home." In spite of his restraint, in spite of the presence of his wife's relations in the room, something in his voice and in the way their eyes met as they spoke gave Kitty a new and different impression of his and Elizabeth's alliance. She found herself wondering for a moment what Mr Darcy might look like in the red coat of an army officer.


End file.
